The Smoke Ring t-2

by Larry Niven

  “Why does Wayne Mickl want that suit so much? I’d think it would be the other way around—”

  “It’s bad for the Admiralty if happyfeet hold old science. I think Wayne’s almost given up on taking his Captain’s seat. The pressure suit is as much power as he’ll ever have, and he takes his responsibilities—”

  They were back: Wayne Mickl and Raym Wilby and Jonthan. Raym was unwontedly quiet. Mickl said, “And what were you discussing with the Bosun?”

  Sectry was flustered; Rather answered first. “I was suggesting that if you did have a fourth pressure suit, you’d need twelve dwarves to man them.”

  Sectry tried to cover her laugh with her hands. Booce laughed outright. Doheen’s mouth was rigidly straight. Mickl was about to explode.

  And Rather had learned little from Sectry, but it might be enough. Go for Gold. Before Mickl could speak, he asked, “Does it fly better than your suits?”

  Mickl’s face didn’t change. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “You said it outflew you. Besides, I heard something once.”

  “You’ll tell me.”

  “Privately, if you don’t mind, Captain-Guardian.”

  They took the kitchen. Mickl said, “That fringe-addled Dark diver makes you a poor witness.”

  “I don’t know anything about your Chairman’s Court.”

  “You’ll see a court soon enough. Talk to me, boy.”

  “I don’t know anything about your mutineer pressure suit either—”

  “Then—”

  “I once heard that there’s a way to make little holes on a pressure suit spray fire. Then it can fly without wings.”

  “Go on.”

  “Maybe I can find a man who can do it. He doesn’t have a pressure suit, so he’s never tried it.”

  “Take me to him.”

  “They don’t deal with Navy. They don’t even come into the Admiralty.” Rather visualized a mysterious happyfeet tribe, isolated and distrustful. “They sent copsiks once. The Scientists don’t come themselves.”

  “Give me a name.”

  He picked one he could remember. “Seekers.”

  “There’s no such tribe.”

  Rather shrugged.

  “Well, what are we doing here, Rather?”

  “What happens is, you give me your pressure suit—”

  Mickl laughed.

  “I take it somewhere.” Payment? Not money; the Seekers might not use money. “I take fringe too, maybe twenty kilos. I take tools. I bring the suit back. They keep the fringe and the tools. Maybe the jets work and maybe they don’t.”

  “Let me tell you why I can’tgive you my pressure suit,” Mickl said gently. “First, it belongs to the Admiralty. Second, it alternates among three Guardians. My triad would notice. Third, turning a pressure suit over to savages would certainly be judged as mutiny, especially since — fourth — you might not bring it back. Stet?”

  “Not stet. Let me think.”

  “While you’re thinking…This mysterious tribe, did they ever have a pressure suit to practice on?”

  “They say they did—”

  “Could they have got it working again?”

  This was taking Rather into empty sky. Treefodder! Maybe it was lost, or stolen, or—

  “Talk to me!”

  “I was trying to remember. They threw it away.”

  “What?”

  “It killed three citizens.”

  “How?”

  “The…silver was only for one who was worthy. One day the old dwarf died while he was using it. Three dwarves wrestled for it—”

  “That sounds like too many dwarves. Rather.”

  It did. “I saw two myself, and I never got inside the jungle. I guess Seekers get more dwarves.”

  “…Goon.”

  “The winner put the suit on and died. The one who lost to him put it on and died. The last one was a woman. She started to get into it, but while the—” Rather patted his skull “—this part was still open she said she heard the voice of Kendy the Checker. Nobody else could hear it. They got scared and dumped it and moved to another part of the sky.”

  “Sounds like the air feed went bad. What then?”

  “That’s when they found the Admiralty. They say one of your ships tried to rob them—”

  “Nonsense.”

  “We say treefodder. They say you did.” It might have happened in the past: Navy robbing savages—

  Wayne Mickl was looking disgusted. He said, “It’s possible. A ship low on provisions…this isn’t helping.’’

  “Wait. You three who trade your suit off. Are you always on duty at Headquarters?”

  “No, of course not. Why?”

  Rather took a deep breath. “Your fourth point: of course we’ll bring the suit back. Not all of us will go. You’ll keep friends of mine to answer for it if the suit doesn’t come back.

  “Your third point: maybe it’s mutiny if you lose your chance at a pressure suit that can fly without wings, especially if it belongs to the Admiralty, which was my first point, and especially if you could get three. So let’s work on your second point. Can you get the Admiralty’s permission?”

  “Admiral Robar Henling would rather give up his seeds. At his age it wouldn’t — No. Just no.”

  He was getting somewhere. He had Mickl’s attention. Think! “Will your, uh, triad try to track down that flying pressure suit?”

  “We will. We are!”

  “You can go anywhere if you think it’s the right direction, stet? You’re Guardians. One of you is an officer. Nobody’ll ask. Am I completely off the track?”

  “…Not yet.”

  “So off you go, tracking rumors of a fourth pressure suit. Maybe you find it. You close in. But there’s a dwarf in it, and he sees you coming and flies away laughing. What he doesn’t know is that your triad was working without a pressure suit for a while. Then it came back. Now off goes the bandit dwarf, but he’s doomed, because your suit flies too and he doesn’t know it!”

  Mickl’s grin was not quite a pleasant sight. “Were you a Teller, where you came from?”

  Rather knew exactly what he meant. “Our Teller was Merril till she died. These days everyone does some telling. Captain-Guardian, I’m trying to help. I’ll bring the suit back whether it works or not.”

  “But would your Seekers give it back?” Mickl sighed. “I don’t blame you for attacking my men, and I won’t charge you. We’ll leave it at that for the moment. This isn’t finished, Rather.”

  The civilians watched the Navy people fly toward their rocket. Sectry was trailing; and when he saw her look back, Rather snatched his wings from the door and jumped after her.

  She stayed in the air while he strapped his wings on.

  A voice spoke from the Navy ship’s cabin; she answered. Then she kicked away to avoid the rocket’s exhaust. She did not fly back toward Serjent House.

  The Navy rocket departed.

  Rather reached her. He didn’t have breath to speak. She said, “You’re involved in something.”

  He shrugged helplessly.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want any part of it. I’ve decided I don’t want to live in a tree either.”

  Rather had his breath back. He said, “We’re the right size.”

  She shook her head violently. Teardrops flew. “Didn’t Wayne tell you how many dwarves there are in the Admiralty? Rather, it was a good offer. Nobody makes real decisions when she’s on fringe. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” His tongue was in knots and his thoughts were scrambled. The Scientist and the Checker, they caused this, they sent me into Headquarters! Would it be different if they hadn’t? Did I mean it, that offer? How will Carlot feel about this? Or Jill?

  “I do want to see you again. After this is over, if it’s ever over. You’ll be going back to the tree, won’t you? You won’t like it here, not with the Captain-Guardian on your tail!” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Well, sooner or la
ter there’ll be a mission to Citizens Tree, and I’ll be on it. I hope this is all cleared up by then.”

  She flapped spinward, toward Headquarters or the Market. He called after her. “We have a rocket—”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll go on foot.” She kept kicking. Rather turned back to Serjent House. He was going to have to do some fast talking…again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Loop

  from the CARM #2 cassettes, recorded year 76 SM, day 1412:

  TO DISCIPLINE, YEAR 1435 STATE. RETRIEVE YOUR CREW AND CONTINUE YOUR MISSION.

  — FANK SHIBANO, FOR THE STATE

  WHERE HAD IT ALL GONE WRONG? A MESSAGE MAY BECOME garbled across fifty-two light-years of distance and interstellar dust. But this was simple, unambiguous, and repeated—

  —as if he were a wayward computer in need of reprogramming. Arrival date: Feb 26,1487 State. Recorded by CARM #2 sixty-one Earth days later.

  He’d accomplished his mission! Why this?

  He had attempted to follow his new orders. Of eight CARMs he had sent into the Smoke Ring, he located three. The rest must have been destroyed, or worn out, or their sending systems turned off.

  From CARM #2 he had learned of the death of Claire Dalton. Claire had died at one hundred and thirty-eight, less than two months before the message arrived. No other survivors were known to the CARMs. Many deathdates had been recorded.

  Amazing that Claire had lived so long.

  There had been a mutiny. Kendy had stored it in CARM #2’s computer before he erased it from his own memory. Sharis Davis Kendy had mutinied against his crew. Fool, not to have seen that! Their descendants used mutineer as an insult!

  He’d made an irretrievable mistake. But how? His reasoning was straight. His orders were unambiguous… weren’t they?

  1)…YOU WILL VISIT EACH OF THESE STARS IN TURN. OTHER TARGETS MAY BE ADDED…THE STATE EXPECTS TO SETTLE THESE WORLDS, SPREADING HUMANITY AMONG VARIABLE ENVIRONMENTS, AGAINST DANGERS THAT MIGHT AFFECT ONLY SOL SYSTEM.

  2)…THE HUMAN SPECIES IS NOT INVULNERABLE. THERE IS FINITE RISK THAT THE CREW OF ANY INTERSTELLAR SPACECRAFT MAY FIND, ON ITS RETURN, THAT IT HAS BECOME THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE. YOUR CREW AND THEIR GENES ARE YOUR PRIMARY CARGO. CLASSIFIED.

  3) YOUR TERTIARY MISSION IS TO EXPLORE…

  — LING CARTHER, FOR THE STATE

  How could it be clearer?

  Kendy knew how the dinosaurs had died. The State had explored the ringed black giant planet that periodically hurled flurries of comets into the solar system. The State could stop comets now. The solar system was tamed. Ten planets were better than one; cities and industrial sites on thirty moons and hundreds of asteroids were better than none; but the lesson of the dinosaurs remained. Planets are fragile.

  Earthlike worlds had been found in the habitable zones of nearby stars. Green life had emerged on two. At Discipline’s departure they were in the process of final terraforming. On twenty-six worlds, poisonous air resembling Earth’s primordial reducing atmosphere had been seeded with tailored algae. In a thousand years some would be ready for further attention. The seeder ramship program had been running since seven hundred years before Kendy’s birth.

  And Discipline had found a habitable nonplanet!

  Humanity was to be spread as widely as possible.

  The dangers here were not a planet’s dangers. The Smoke Ring and its enveloping gas torus were dense enough to protect Earthly life from radiation from the old neutron star, and from other radiation too. Radiation sources were normal throughout the universe. A supernova explosion near Sol…a passage of Sol and its companion stars through a region of star-creation…a catastrophe in the galactic core…events known and unknown could cause havoc through Sol system and all nearby systems. But none could harm the Smoke Ring!

  His own message to Earth, sent in year 1382 State, was long and detailed. CARM #2 had the record:

  Sharls Davis Kendy had abandoned his crew as they explored the Smoke Ring. Three who remained aboard had been invited to take what they needed from Discipline and join the others. He had never given reasons; his secondary mission was CLASSIFIED. He had shut down systems aboard Discipline in a pattern that forced them to the CARMs.

  Ah, that explained something: those three had not loved cats. Pure coincidence.

  Then, the message from Earth. Put it back the way it was.

  How? His crew was dead!

  Faced with conflicting orders, he could not function at all. He would be locked in a loop of reinforcing guilt. Kendy had sequestered all data relating to the mutiny and beamed it to CARMs #2, #6, and #7, then erased it all from memory.

  How had he gone wrong? Could the message itself have been garbled? Through 200 repetitions?

  TO DISCIPLINE, YEAR 1435 STATE. RETRIEVE YOUR CREW AND CONTINUE YOUR MISSION.

  — FRANK SHIBANO, FOR THE STATE

  No explanations, no elaborations. He’d been reprogrammed like a wayward computer. Why? He’d accomplished his mission!

  Was the message genuine? Check the dates:

  Kendy’s own mission report, sent 1382 State. Message from the State dated fifty-two point two Earth years later. He was fifty-two point one light-years from Earth. This Shibano had not lingered over his decision, but…it checked.

  — Arrived fifty-two point one years after that. Check.

  …Odd. Why would the State expect any crew to remain alive? That Claire had survived was partly due to low gravity, good conservative health habits (her mind was that of an elderly corpsicle), youth (via the body of some bright, healthy criminal), and luck. The rest must have been dead decades earlier (and their descendants called him murderer and mutineer and damaged machine).

  Shibano for the State. Kendy found it difficult to consider Shibano as separate from the state, but…what could Shibano have been thinking? Rescue after one hundred and four years: it was insane.

  Perhaps the State’s medical resources had improved?

  Times change. Every generation of mankind has sought longer lives. Thousand-year lifespans might have become common…

  Speculative.

  But times change. Goals change. Kendy’s route here had been circuitous. The state that had given Kendy his orders was four hundred and fifty-five years old when he reached the Smoke Ring. Five hundred and seven when Shibano spoke. Five hundred and fifty-nine when his message arrived.

  Kendy did not normally question orders. Conflicting orders could throw him into a loop. But he had been round and round this loop, while some voiceless subsystem sought desperately for a way out.

  Somewhere in a pattern of magnetic fields there was a change of state…and Kendy the man would have laughed. A change of State, yes. Sharls Davis Kendy’s State was a thousand years in the past. Dead. Somehow he must serve anyway. His own goals had been spelled out in detail; he would serve those.

  Humankind was to settle varied environments. So be it. What was his present situation?

  The receding Smoke Ring covered forty degrees of sky. His mind had been following a loop for just under two months! He’d missed the final stages of the explosion of Levoy’s Star, the foray into the Admiralty might have disintegrated by now…

  To work. Discipline’s drive had shut down without his attention. Good! He still had fuel.

  He started the drive warming. His orbit was a comet’s, highly eccentric. Equations ran through his mind…fire a short burst at aphelion. Shed some velocity by aerobraking, by dipping into the gas torus around the Smoke Ring, twice. Use Goldblatt’s World as a gravity sling, save a few cupfuls of deuterium that way…

  Glowing in direct sunlight, the Clump was green-and-white chaos in Logbearer’s steam trail. Clave felt good: loose and free, cruising through an uncluttered sky.

  Rather crawled out of the angular cabin. His head was metal and glass. “The suit’s too big, but I can wear the helmet.”

  Clave smiled at the sight. “Getting anything?”

  “Getting…? No, Jeffer hasn’t called. Maybe he can�
�t call this suit. I tried Kendy too.”

  “Too bad.” Clave had been watching a distant brownish smudge of vegetation. Now he shouted aft. “Carlot? Could that be a fisher jungle?”

  “Be with you in twelve breaths.” Carlot finished what she was doing to the motor and crawled to them over the cabin. “Where?”

  Clave’s toes jabbed east and out.

  “I don’t see the root…right, that’s what it is. I’d better turn off the motor or we’ll go past. Rather?”

  Rather followed her aft. Clave stayed at the bow while they worked the motor. Presently the tide behind him went away.

  Closer now, the fisher jungle looked dead enough. Brown foliage and bare branchlets. Tufts and patches of vivid green: parasitical growths. The fisher root was half extended, like a dead man’s hand with three scarlet fingernails. He looked for the CARM…and found a man flapping toward him.

  Jeffer pulled himself aboard, panting. “Moor to the root. Treefodder, I’m glad to see you, but what are you doing here? Is everyone here?” He looked over the edge of cabin and shouted, “Hello, Carlot! Rather, what… is that a pressure suit helmet?”

  “Yes. The rest of it’s inside.”

  They told it in tandem while they moored Logbearer.

  “I never did quite know if the Captain-Guardian believed me,” Rather said, “but he left Serjent House without taking any copsiks—”

  “The Navy watched us for the next forty, fifty days,”

  Clave said. “We weren’t doing anything peculiar. Booce sold wood and hired people to cut it. We bought more seeds and some tools and stuff. We’re carrying all that. Mickl kept coming around, interrupting us, trying to get Rather to tell him more about Seekers—”

  “I tried not to talk too much. I built up a picture of these Seekers in my mind, and maybe I got it across. Secretive. Not very many of ’em. Too many Scientists, maybe half a dozen. They’ve got a cassette and reader but they don’t show it to outsiders. They threw away their silver suit, but they’ve got records on how to maintain it. And they swear to kill anyone who tells their secrets. The citizen who told me disappeared. He was high on fringe and I was just a kid, but I had a better memory than most kids…That part’s true anyway,” Rather said. “I haven’t told Mickl all of this.”